Jessica the Nun

Thomas and his brother have a live changing encounter with a Nun.

Thomas was thirteen, and he felt thirty some days. His brothers Nolan, seven, and Micah, five, still looked to him for protection, even when Thomas felt as small as they did in the shadow of Thomas Sr.’s rages.

It wasn’t always like this. Once, their father would ruffle Thomas’s hair and take them for fries after school. But when he lost his job, it was as if something broke inside him. The man who used to hum while fixing the car began pacing the kitchen with shaking hands, the smell of whiskey turning the house sour.

The worst part was how it hurt to breathe. Literally. Because sometimes, breathing wrong earned you a slap.

The only reprieve was church.

Their mother, thin and pale in her hospital bed, had made them promise, “Go to church, even if I’m not there.” So they did. After school, they walked, Nolan clutching Micah’s hand, Thomas carrying their battered backpacks. The church felt safer than home. It smelled of old wood and candles, and there was a sense that maybe someone out there was listening, even if it wasn’t clear who.

That’s where they met Nun Jessica Lopez.

Nun Lopez did not smile easily. She had sharp eyes and a sharper tongue, telling kids to keep quiet, to pick up after themselves, to pray properly. Many kids whispered that she was mean.

Thomas’s perception of her shifted the day she caught Nolan stealing a stale cookie from the supply closet. She scolded him but then gave him the rest of the pack with a firm, “Next time, ask.”

She was strict, yes, but fair.

One day, though, nothing felt safe. Thomas’s father had shown up outside the church with glassy eyes and a crooked grin. “Let’s go,” he had said, weaving slightly. The boys hesitated. It was almost a relief when Nolan, with childish honesty, had said, “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

The world froze as Thomas Sr.’s face twisted, and his hand struck Nolan across the cheek so hard it knocked him into Thomas.

Thomas’s breath caught, ready for the next blow.

“Hey!”

Nun Lopez stood there, not in her usual black and white habit, but in sweatpants, her hair tied up under a cap, a gym bag slung over her shoulder.

Her eyes locked on Thomas Sr. “You don’t hit a child for asking for food.”

Thomas Sr. laughed, an ugly, hollow sound. “Not your business, nun. Walk away before I give you something to pray about.”

She took a step closer, and something about the way she moved made Thomas blink. She wasn’t afraid. If anything, she looked calm, almost bored.

“Go ahead,” she said softly. “Try.”

The arrogant grin on Thomas Sr.’s face twisted into a sneer as he swung at her.

Thomas would never forget what happened next.

It was like a movie. Her gym bag dropped, and in one smooth motion, she pulled out what looked like a wooden training sword, the type Thomas had only seen on TV. It moved so fast it was almost a blur, deflecting his father’s arm with a sharp crack that made Thomas Sr. yelp.

“Wha...what the hell?” he stammered.

“You hit children,” she said, her voice calm, cold, and ringing with authority. “You threaten people. You think you’re strong.”

She moved again, tapping the sword’s tip against his chest, pushing him back step by step until he stumbled and fell to his knees on the cold church sidewalk.

“Kneel,” she ordered, “and look at your sons.”

Thomas Sr. was gasping, more from shock than pain, looking around as if for a way out, but he was stuck there, on his knees, staring at the boys who flinched when he raised his hand.

Nolan was crying, and Micah was too, and Thomas felt tears slip down his cheeks because, for once, they weren’t tears of fear.

Nun Lopez’s eyes softened, and she lowered the sword. “This ends now.”

A car pulled up, and two other nuns stepped out, wearing the traditional habits, their faces set with grim resolve. One had a phone in her hand, speaking quietly into it. Thomas realized with a shock that she had called the police.

Thomas Sr. started to rise, but Nun Lopez stepped forward. Her voice cut the air like a blade.

“Stay. Down.”

And he did.

When the police came, Thomas Sr. tried to bluster, but the bruises on Nolan’s face told the truth. Nun Lopez stood by, arms folded, as the officers gently guided the boys away, letting them sit in the backseat while they dealt with their father.

Nun Lopez came to the window. She was still in her sweatpants, her hair sticking to her forehead, but she didn’t look tired. She looked like a warrior.

She knelt down so she was eye-level with them, resting her hand on the window frame.

“You are safe now,” she said softly. “And you will eat.”

Thomas opened his mouth, but no words came out. The tears came instead, silent and hot, as he pressed his hand to the glass. She placed hers there too, on the other side, steady.

He remembered what she had said to his father: “Look at your sons.”

Thomas looked at Nolan and Micah. They were scared, but alive. And for the first time in a long time, Thomas felt something inside him that wasn’t fear.

It was hope.

Nun Lopez stood as the officers led their father away, her wooden sword resting at her side. She looked back at the boys and gave a small nod, almost a smile.

“Take care of each other,” she said.

Thomas nodded.

He would.

Because in that moment, Thomas learned that true strength wasn’t about being loud or angry. It wasn’t about fists or fear.

It was about standing your ground for those who cannot.

And it was about knowing when to kneel, not in defeat, but in humility, to lift others back to their feet.

Word Count: 990
Prompt: Write a story using the following words: Nun, perception, sword, arrogant, kneel
Written for: "The Writer's Cramp"